Abstract
by kaenu
Summary: a bittersweet story dealing with how masking one's feelings can break one's world appart. Tyki/Lavi even though it is never directly mentioned.
1. Preludium

Restless hearts and loving deeds. Bodies become one through a sweeping motion like the ocean's tide. Two so different, yet the same. Sides of a single coin. Hands clasp tight, fingers entwinning over wrinkly bedsheets, bodies covered by a glistenning thin layer of sweat, moving in perfect harmony, the ebb and flow. Muffled cries and moans of pleasure slice the stillness of the thick warm summer air. There's no one else to hear and yet both try to be as silent and fast as possible, as if chased by unknown forces. The bed shakes and makes a crackling noise under the ardour of their actions, it feels like its growing to collapse, crashed by the fierce motion -faster, harder, deeper- but in the end it still stands in one piece.  
A soft breeze rushes in the room as the one walks to the door and opens it at the break of dawn, miraculously in his costume for another time. Formal wear and shattered dreams.  
"You'll come"  
"I will"  
Footsteps form a single line as the step outside on the moistenned by the humid air flagstone. The first early morning rays rush to greet him. He turns backwards, looks through the half-open door. The other smiles at him, he frowns and turns away.

Goodnight... and goodbye... quickly... 


	2. The Deed

Footsteps form a decisive line walking on the wet by the rain flagstone. 'tap-tap-tap' one can hear the heels against the hard tiles, for a moment they stop, undecided, while even the hastened breathing questions "should I take the next step?". The decision is taken and a door opens with a wailing sound as the feet push forward. Inside the halflight of the room one can make out a figure that is leant against a simple chair, illuminated faintly by the flame of a dying candle in the other side of the room. Black... red... green... The evil legs suddently acquire hands. At first its only a single gloved hand, then the other hand appears, threateningly approaching the seemingly asleep silhouette.  
"You came"  
"I did"  
The shadows on the wall are absolute, the figure won't wake up again and those gloves will need to go in the laundry.

Goodnight... and goodbye... quickly... 


	3. Postludium

He stands at the edge of the balkony, threatenning to fall due to the strong wind the was blowing ever since earlier that morning. The wind takes away all words, seeking to sweep away the hopes, the last dreams... "There are not any, you hear me?" he yells at they wind. "There were never any!!" he fools himself, lies he speaks... He's empty, vacant. It rains. He doesn't care. Maybe the rain will wash away the pain, the pain that stings the heart he never had so deeply. There are tears in his eyes. Tears that flowed because the heart could not hold them back. He stands there still, as if he turned to stone all of a sudden and became a masterpiece of art, a sculpture, his face a mask of apathy. Apathy and pain and despair and sadness. Deep untold sadness. He stands there still, numb. The decisive, the hopeful, the one self that dared to dream does not exist anymore. The shameless, the cold, the other self that delivered the final blow does not exist either.  
He was walking all day, screaming, crying, but no one understood, no one cared. All life a stage-play, a silly stage-play, in which no one wins, just loses. And because of that, the fact that life is a stage-play, you can never know if the other trully cares or is just acting his part. But he cared. He did care. Even if it was for a single moment... he did care.  
And now... now that everything was over and done... Who was he? He was becomming all the more transparent, all the more mundane. He walked the whole day looking for a familliar face but he found none -no one really knew him, so how could they be familliar to him in turn?-. Nothing! Nobody! And it was unfair. Unfair for him.

"Everybody's running, they try to catch up." a little red-headed child told him. But before he could ask the little boy what they were running after it had already dissapeared. And he stood alone, at the edge of the balkony for another moment. What worth is there in life if you don't have something to fight for, someone to care for -someone who will care for you?- His vision blurred by bitter tears, hands losing their grip on the balkony's edge, feet dropped in the void bellow and he fell. The sun was setting in the horizon.

Goodnight... and goodbye... quickly... 


	4. In due time

The room is small and square. There's not much furniture inside. There's a bed, a simple chair and a small table with a melted candle on top. The bed's sheets are all messy and one can see a few bloodstains on the chair. One will wonder what hapenned in here... It's a small room, a small home, a small haven with a single room built on a small street close to a harbor. When you stand at the door you can hear the sounds of the waves sometimes, when it is quiet outside -usually those hours after midnight-  
On the roof, outside, a redheaded teen is sitting, casually laying there as if he spent a lifetime there. He waits for something... someone... or maybe both. He watches the people go by at the street bellow, none of them paying mind to the home, and of course not even turn an eye at him. They don't know him, why should they care? -Everybody's running, they are trying to catch up. Captch up with their lives that are slipping out of control from between their fingertips.-

On an appartment of the seventh floor of a block of flats, a man is sitting on the balkony. He looks away, at the setting sun in the horizon regretting the awful deeds he has commited. He realized a little too late, he found out a little too late, he was enlightenned... a little too late. It was too late to change what he had already done, deliver an order to the target and kill another man. For a sane killer such as himself this shouldn't be a strange or difficult deed to do, in fact it wasn't... Or it would not be... had he not loved this man. Killing him openned his eyes to the truth but it was already too late to apologize and say those three little words that cost so little but worth so much. Knowing this he drove himself to his death -maybe in a desperate attempt to atone for his sin-.

Footsteps form a decisive line walking on the muddy flagstone. 'tap-tap-tap' one can hear the heels against the hard tiles, this time they do not stop at all. There's no second thoughts to be made.  
"You came." "I did."

Two figures sitting side by side on the roof. The one turned to the other, said something. Words that the wind took but didn't steal them, just made them one with itself -making them soft, lightweight, pure-. A head laying on a shoulder. Night has come, stars twinkling on the deep velvet blue.

Goodnight... Goodnight.  
Goodnight... 


End file.
